What's in a name
by brainthief
Summary: Voldemort proved the Fidelius faulty once. Nevertheless, Dumbledore relies on it again. Big mistake.


**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not her.

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The serrated silver knife cut effortlessly through the lean steak revealing the red inside and allowing a small pool of red liquid to form around the cut. A pasty white hand with long slender fingers held the silver fork that pierced four holes into the bite-sized piece.

Voldemort chewed thoughtfully and murmured appreciatively from where he was seated at the head of a long table.

"This is excellent," he praised his sole companion, a somewhat portly man in his early fifties staring forward with glassy eyes and a blank expression on his face. The man was standing against the wall just within Voldemort's line of sight.

"Truly," he continued while taking a sip of a several hundred year old wine, "you have access to some of the best fare you muggles know of."

The fact that his conversational partner didn't react in the slightest didn't bother him at all.

"Of course I had expected nothing less. I mean, look at the size of your home!" Voldemort spread his arms wide indicating the opulence of the large dining room. From the closed double mahogany doors to the high ceiling, painted undoubtedly by a master artisan and adorned with a golden chandelier everything simply screamed wealth and power.

"I feel so very fortunate that you volunteered to share your wealth with me." Voldemort's eyes flashed with a mocking humour.

The portly man didn't flinch or shiver or smile. He simply looked on with a thousand yard stare. But inside his head Voldemort could hear him screaming.

He shivered in delight; while the Imperious was less obvious than the Cruciatus it could be equally effective.

His entertainment was interrupted when one of his subservient idiots came running through the doors, causing them to slam open. Annoyed, the Dark Lord petrified him silently and used his immobile form as a battering ram until after a hit or ten the doors remained closed.

"Explain yourself," he hissed, glaring as he released the youngster and watched him fall to his knees.

"My Lord," the minion said, shaking, "Travers reported in. The house is visible. Bella and the others have left immediately, as you ordered."

The Dark Lord felt a dark smirk grow on his face and involuntarily a chuckle erupted from his chest. "Excellent. Report when they return."

Recognising the dismissal, the youngster left, shaking still, leaving Voldemort alone with the person who was both his minion and his host.

Voldemort raised his wineglass in a mock toast and took a small sip, savouring the rich taste as he pondered this new development. With a little luck, the next few minutes would see the end of the blasted Order of the Phoenix.

He scoffed. Really, why the old man would rely on his flimsy Fidelius charm for a second time was a mystery to him, but all the same, it provided him with a wonderful opportunity. Last time he had subverted the Secret Keeper, rendering it useless. But now he could rightfully call himself the first person to ever break it.

For all his annoying reticence and inaction Severus had been helpful in this instance. Life would be so much simpler if he could trust his spy to act in his best interest, but no, he had many questions that could not be answered at this point in time.

The man knew few names of other members. The man couldn't openly act to prove his loyalty because that would render him useless. And because of that blasted charm he couldn't even reveal the location of their headquarters. That is, reveal it exactly.

Because he could lead someone else, however unknowingly, to the very street in which he disappeared. The street where the Order was so very obviously hiding an entire house.

For a brief moment Voldemort had pondered simply lighting the entire neighbourhood on fire, but he had ultimately dismissed it as having not enough chance of success. They'd have obvious forewarning and would have time to Floo out. More frustratingly, he would never know for sure because he would never be able to actually see the potential destruction on that plot of land because it would be hidden. For all he knew, the building might still be standing even though everything around it would be barren wasteland.

No, the situation had called for a little more elegance. While brute power was his obvious forte, sometimes a case could be made for use of his superior skill and intellect.

So what if he could not attack the house itself. So what if the charm was undetectable and – though it galled him to admit as much – the secret keeper unassailable. He was the Dark Lord Voldemort and nothing would stand between him and his goal. With renewed determination he had reasoned and researched and he had found the one element left exposed: the secret itself.

Severus hadn't been able to tell him the secret, but nevertheless he had inferred what it was. He knew too, how the secret had been phrased in 1981. And it had relied on a street address.

Knowing the decrepit old fool as he did, he would undoubtedly hold true to his personal preferences and use the same type of phrasing. While not able to speak the secret, Severus could confirm as much. And that left an opening.

"I should really thank you, you know," he addressed his companion once more. "Were it not for your extraordinary help it may have taken a whole ten minutes longer to change the name of that blasted street. We were so very fortunate that you're so very good with paperwork. No, it's good to have the Mayor of London in your pocket, so to speak."

He grinned widely and once again gestured around the room. "And it comes with such nice side-benefits too!"

Ever since he'd imperioused the Mayor and given orders to start the process one of his Death Eaters had stood guard under an invisibility cloak at a large distance, waiting for the house to appear. They had seen the muggle workmen come and go to replace the old and dented street sign with a new one. They had observed the neighbours chat and point to it, but still the house remained hidden.

It only proved to him what hypocrites were in the Order. Preaching muggle sentiments, but remaining aloof and oblivious to the goings on around them, just like any other wizard.

But evidently after two weeks someone had finally noticed and the word had made it all the way to Dumbledore. The secret keeper knew that the address that he guarded over no longer existed. That the house on which the charm was cast was present somewhere else. And thus, the secret was _invalid_. Goodbye Fidelius!

A team of Death Eaters under Bellatrix's watchful eye had been ready and waiting for this very occasion, and per his orders they had departed within minutes.

While he was chuckling Voldemort became aware of an increasing torrent of emotions coming over the connection that linked him with Potter. It was an uneasy feeling and he frowned when suddenly his head exploded in agony. It was a pain completely unfamiliar to him and it took all of his effort to reinforce his Occlumency to dull it and allow his thought processes to restart.

On second thought, he had felt such pain once before. Several months ago, when he had tried to possess the twerp. What was it that had caused him such agony?

Oh right. The boy had been grieving.

Despite the lingering pain his eyes glinted and the corners of his mouth curled up in a malicious smirk until he could no longer hold it in. The Dark Lord Voldemort began to laugh.

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A/N: Written for the Hunger Games Competition - The Bloodbath. Yeah, with a name like that it was never going to end well. I've been thinking about the Fidelius and its weaknesses for a while and this was an opportunity to dive into the head of an evil megalomaniac.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


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